Krieger frowned. “I’m sorry, Mary, but you’re under a non-disclosure agreement here.”
Mary was gearing up for a fight. “Yes, but—”
Jock raised a hand. “No, you’re right. Sorry. It’s hard to get out of the RAND mode. Yes, of course, you can present your discovery. The world has a right to know.”
Hélène Gagné looked out at the hundreds of journalists who had gathered in the Creighton Mine parking lot. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, speaking into a microphone on a telescoping stand, “thank you for coming. On behalf of the people of Ontario, the people of Canada, and the people of the world, it’s my pleasure to welcome the two emissaries from the parallel version of Earth. I know some of you in the media already are acquainted with Dr. Ponter Boddit, who now has the title of ‘Envoy.’” She made a gesture at Ponter, and, after a moment, Ponter realized he should probably acknowledge it somehow. He lifted his right hand and waved enthusiastically which, for some reason, prompted amusement amongst the Gliksin journalists.
“And this,” continued Hélène, “is the ambassador, Ms. Tukana Prat. I’m sure she has a few words for us.” Hélène looked expectantly at Tukana, who, after some additional gesturing by Hélène, moved to the microphone.
“We are glad to be here,” said Tukana. She then politely backed away from the mike.
Hélène looked mortified, and quickly took Tukana’s place. “What Ambassador Prat means,” she said, “is that on behalf of her people, she is pleased to open formal contact with our people, and looks forward to a productive and mutually beneficial dialogue on matters of common concern.” She turned to Tukana, beseeching approval for these comments. Tukana nodded. Hélène went on. “And she hopes that her people and ours can find numerous opportunities for trade and cultural exchange.” She again looked at Tukana; the female Neanderthal at least didn’t seem inclined to object. “And she’d like to thank Inco, the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory, the mayor and council of the city of Sudbury, the government of Canada, and the United Nations, where she will be speaking tomorrow, for their hospitality.” She looked once more at Tukana, gesturing at the mike. “Isn’t that right?”
Tukana hesitated for a moment, then moved back to the microphone stand. “Um, yes. What she said.”
The journalists howled.
Hélène leaned close to Tukana and put a hand over the mike, but Ponter could hear her anyway. “We have got a lot of work to do before tomorrow,” she said.
After Mary left his office, Jock Krieger looked out his window. He’d had his pick of office space, of course. Most would have opted for the lake view, but that meant looking north, away from the United States. Jock’s window faced south, but since the mansion housing the Synergy Group was on a spit of land, Jock’s view did include a lovely marina. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, stared out at his world, and thought.
Tukana and Ponter were both astonished by the Canadian Forces jet that took them to Ottawa. Although their people had developed helicopters, jet planes were unknown on the Neanderthal world.
After Tukana got over the shock of being airborne, she turned to Hélène. “I am sorry,” said the ambassador. “I believe I did not live up to your requirements earlier today.”
Hélène frowned. “Well, let’s just say that humans here expect a little more pomp and circumstance.”
Tukana’s translator bleeped twice.
“You know,” said Hélène, “a little more ceremony, some more kind words.”
“But you said nothing of substance,” said Tukana.
Hélène smiled. “Exactly. The prime minister is quite easygoing; you won’t have any trouble with him tonight. But tomorrow you’ll face the General Assembly of the United Nations, and they’ll expect you to speak at some length.” She paused. “Forgive me, but I thought you were a career diplomat?”
“I am,” said Tukana, defensively. “I have spent time in Evsoy and Ranilass and Nalkanu, representing the interests of Saldak. But we try to get to the point as quickly as possible in such discussions.”
“Don’t you worry about offending people by being brusque?”
“That is why ambassadors travel to these places instead of doing negotiations by telecommunications. It allows us to smell the pheromones of those we are talking with, and them to smell ours.”
“Does that work when you’re addressing a large group?”
“Oh, yes. I have had negotiations that have involved ten people or even eleven.”
Hélène felt her jaw dropping. “You will be speaking before eighteen hundred people tomorrow. Will you be able to detect whether you are giving offense to anyone in a group that large?”
“Not unless the offended individual happens to be one of those closest to me.”
“Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a few pointers.”
Tukana nodded. “As I believe you would say, I am all ears.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mary had returned to her second-floor lab, and was now sitting in a black leather swivel chair, the kind of lush executive furnishings never found in a professor’s university office. She had swung around, away from her desk, and was looking out the large north-facing window at Lake Ontario. She knew Toronto was opposite Rochester, but even on a clear day she couldn’t see it from here; the far shore was beyond the horizon. The world’s tallest freestanding structure, the CN Tower, was right on Toronto’s lakeshore. She’d half hoped it, at least, would stick up over the curve of the Earth’s surface, but…
But she remembered Ponter saying that it had been a mistake to have his Companion implant, Hak, programmed with his dead wife’s voice. Instead of giving comfort, it had been a painful reminder of things lost. Perhaps it was just as well that Mary couldn’t see any part of Toronto through her window.
Seabreeze had been a delightful place in the summer, she’d been told, but now that fall was beginning, it was getting fairly grim. Mary had become partial to the news on WROC, the local CBS affiliate, but every weather forecast she had heard used the term “lake effect”—something she’d never encountered when she’d lived on the north side of the same lake. Toronto was reasonably snow-free in winter, but apparently Rochester got hammered with the white stuff, thanks to cool air moving down from Canada picking up moisture as it traveled over Lake Ontario.
Mary got a coffee mug, filled it with her favorite potion of Maxwell House laced with chocolate milk, and took a sip. She’d become quite taken with Upstate Dairy’s Extreme Chocolate Milk, which, like the fabulous Heluva Good French Onion Dip, wasn’t available in Toronto. There were, she supposed, a few compensations for being away from home…
Mary’s reverie was broken by the phone on her desk ringing. She put down her coffee mug. There were very few people who had her number here—and it wasn’t an internal Synergy Group call; those were heralded by a different ring.
She picked up the black handset. “Hello?”
“Professor Vaughan?” said a woman’s voice.
“Yes?”
“It’s Daria.”
Mary felt her spirits lifting. Daria Klein—her grad student, back at York University. Of course, Mary had given her new phone number to her old department; after leaving them in the lurch just before the beginning of classes, it had been the least she could do.
“Daria!” exclaimed Mary. “How good to hear from you!” Mary pictured the slim brown-haired girl’s angular, smiling face.
“It’s nice to hear your voice, too,” said Daria. “I hope you don’t mind me phoning. I didn’t just want to send an e-mail about this.” She could practically hear Daria jumping up and down.